Now I am going to answer some long-asked questions about what happened in Livermore, California to cause me to leave there and continue Journeying up through the Northwest and then all the way back to the East Coast...
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LIVERMORE
DUST TO DUST
When
I arrived in Los Angeles, California seemed like a wonderland of
paradisical possibilities, with its lush, varied plant life framing
millions of energetic people. As a Mainer abroad, it was a mythical
place in the same way that the Americas must have seemed like when
they were first discovered by Europeans and described in the
illustrated books distributed throughout the Old World.
At
that point, I had accomplished the erratic and not well-thought out
crossing of the Manifest Destiny Journey (one which the t-shirts
celebrated). I waded into the Pacific Ocean and had a great time with
my good friend, steady supporter and spiritual brother Patrick,
in Fullerton. I had no idea whether I would continue on walking up
the west coast, or settle some place in California to try and make a
new beginning. The thought of trying to join "the game"
again was very unappealing to me. Yet, in this new land of
opportunity, perhaps I could do better at ruling my piece of that
game? I really just had no clue. I was temporarily intoxicated by the
freshness of the experience.
As
all of this is well documented in this blog, it became clear to me
within two days, that Southern California was not the place to "start
again." It was too densely packed with people. So, I decided to
accept the open invitation from a guy--Steve, whom I'd only known
online, to stay as long as I wanted in Livermore, located in the East
Bay area near San Francisco. He was very clear about the freedom I'd
have there to explore the region. He had plenty of money and a large
estate with a cabin for me. Honestly? I was very skeptical. He and I
had had serious philosophical differences in the past, as we were
both members of an online forum and went at each other with a
particular ferocity over certain issues. But, seeing it as the best
possibility to have time for working out my future, I took the risk.
I
made the grueling thirteen hour trip, transferring between a series
of buses and trains to this completely different location--wine
country. He - a vintner himself - picked me up at Starbucks in
Livermore. I was so tired from traveling that I fell asleep in the
car while he went into the bank on the way to his house.
We
seemed to get along just fine. He was an energetic guy, and appeared
to be much different from the unthinking man I'd struggled so many
times with online. I was honest and open about the possibility that I
might leave at any time to continue my wallk. He graciously left that
door open, while also mentioning things we could do in the next few
months, should I choose to stay longer. It seemed ideal, and I felt
relatively comfortable there. My very, very modest accommodations -
compared to how he lived - relieved me of any feeling that I might be
putting him out by being there, but I told him I'd give it a two week
trial period. He agreed that was fair.
I
will tell you though, that I never lost a submerged suspicion about
his motives. It all seemed too good to be true. Nevertheless, I
officially ended that Manifest Destiny Journey after about a week
there. It had been an even one hundred days.
While
I got used to life in this new place, my childhood friend (mentioned
at the beginning) contacted me and I was surprised to learn that she
lived in Livermore too! We arranged to meet. She picked me up and we
went bowling. It was a wonderful night, relaxing and fun, filled with
plenty of drinking. I also got a chance to meet her very kind and
easy going husband.
As
the months passed, and the blog went into hibernation, Steve and I
got to know each other a bit better. He asked me to play in his band,
and I did some video production and other work for him.
The
first hint that things were changing came after I'd spent the day
filming a medical device he'd invented. We sat in his office that
night and discussed how much I might want to be paid to continue
working in this way. I suggested $15 per hour. He laughed and said,
"Well I want to pay you $25 per hour!" then looked at me
for my reaction. Of course, I accepted. Then, he nudged me and said,
"Pretty generous, huh?!" I agreed. Steve is happiest when
he is rewarded for his generosity with careful ego-stroking. I
presumed - I think, rightly - that our agreement meant I would be
compensated within the week for the eight hours I'd put in (actually
twelve hours, but I adjusted it down for the sake of diplomacy). That
would mean $200. I desperately needed the money, since my savings
were depleted and, because I'd not had the time to write for
donations, no other income was coming in.
In
the next week, as I struggled to find enough to eat, asking my mother
to send a bit to hold me over until I got paid, I waited for Steve's
payment. I saw him several times, and he never mentioned it. By the
second week, I pushed down my pride and asked him for it. He gave me
$100. Well, that was a start. I didn't press him as to why I wasn't
getting the full amount, and of course he offered no explanation. I
made the money stretch for another two weeks, even doing more work,
then asked him again to be paid. He gave me another $100, though I
had now earned much more than that, somewhere over $500. The nickle
and diming was beginning to piss me off.
Every
now and then, he'd stop by the cabin and give me leftovers from his
three-meal-a-day, seven-days-per-week restaurant habit. Of course I
took the food, since without it I had barely enough for half a meal a
day. He was quite proud of himself for being so generous. It was
written all over his face after dropping off his table scraps.
It
began to occur to me that I was falling into a trap. I had put myself
into a position where I was now constantly in Steve's debt. He
solidified this one night by offering to "rent" me the
cabin (which had no running water and no bathroom, only a cot and a
desk), for $500 per month; something that could be covered by some of
the money he owed me for my work.
I
reluctantly agreed, since I was put on the spot. The new
self-revelation being that Steve was a goalpost mover. He'd offered
to have me stay for free, and then changed the rules once I was
settled in. I'm not the kind of person who wants to feel like I'm
getting something for nothing, so it seemed fair enough at the time.
Though
there was a bathroom seventy five feet away from the cabin, it was
locked occasionally; one night, by his wife--who thought I'd taken a
shower and used her guest towels (something we all discovered was
actually a customer of theirs during a wine tasting). Still, it was a
huge pain in the ass to get up at two in the morning each day, put on
all my clothes, and jog over to the bathroom, then go back and try to
fall asleep.
There
was also a laundry room next to the bathroom, but I had to ask them
to unlock it to do washes. Steve would often forget the request, or
he'd unlock it and then someone else would lock it again, and I'd
have to ask again. On one occasion it took me an entire week to
achieve the highly complicated task of washing one load of laundry.
The
time there was turning into a nightmare. I was continuously broke,
unable to eat regularly, couldn't rely on having clean clothes,
wasn't paid for my work, struggled just to use the bathroom, and was
now committed to having to pay way too much rent for way too little.
The trap was sprung, and I was pacing the cage, looking for a way to
free myself.
During
these months, my other friend and her husband had steadily become my
refuge from Steve's trap. They invited me over for delicious dinners
a couple times a week, and were very sympathetic to my plight. They
also had plenty of money, asking for nothing in return. I truly loved
them for their help.
Catching
wind of my increasing absence from the property, Steve became slowly
more embittered, though - even after both of us agreeing to bring
things up if we had a problem with each other - he said nothing. My
messages to him were returned with the reply: "It's all good!!"
The
friendly couple across town eventually offered to have me move in
there until I could work out a more permanent place to live; a
very gracious thing to do. But I declined, because I felt that I had
to stick to my deal with Steve and pay off what I now owed him. It
was intolerable, stressful, and reminded me of just how much simpler
and more profitable it had been Journeying.
After
consulting my mother about how I might extricate myself from all of
this. She suggested that I might want to do another Journey into the
Northwest--if even as a temporary way to get my readers back, earn an
income again, and not be in debt. I turned over the matter for a week
or so. And, then while lying on my cot one night, the Spark presented
the idea of re-crossing the country, but this time with great
intention, a high amount of organization and a solidly planned out
agenda. It was exactly what I needed.
Things
got very desperate for me, hunger-wise. I went for four days in a row
one week with no ability to buy food. On those days, I would walk
back to the cabin late at night, filling a bag with grape leaves,
rose hips, and what I thought were sweet green almonds (the
undeveloped seeds and pods). Then on one particular night, I
researched further into the almonds I was consuming each day -
sometimes up to twenty - and discovered that they were in fact bitter
almonds--a variety with a high percentage of cyanide. I was slowly
poisoning myself, but caught my mistake in enough time (also was at
less risk because the nuts were not yet developed) that I was able to
survive. (This story was never related until now.)
In
the three weeks or so that it took me to formulate and solidify the
plans for my new Journey, I spent hardly any time at Steve's--only
returning to sleep there each night. I sent him a PM telling him that
I would be leaving soon and apologizing for not being able to honor
our agreement about rent. Once again, he replied with: "It's all
good! No worries." But, this is not how he felt. He'd had
complex expectations for me right from the start. And, I wasn't
dutifully jumping through his smaller and smaller hoops. This
apparently made him more and more angry, something he was entirely
silent about.
The
other friends continued to be supportive. She (with three other
readers) invested in the t-shirt purchase and we did fairly well at
selling them for awhile. She agreed to take over the sale of the
shirts whenever I planned to begin the Living Magazine Journey that I
am now close to completing.
She
and I had dozens of wonderful conversations about every possible
subject. She is naturally a skeptical person, and sometimes
questioned my judgement. I valued this honesty and took her advice
one certain things, while knowing that my concept of the overall
project was sound.
Our views on politics
would often differ, though I am not as much of a bleeding heart as
you all might think. Always were our conversations civil, filled with
humor, and open. As has been the case with many of my readers and
supporters who lean steeply to the right side of the aisle, I could
not understand why she so fully threw herself into my cause. But, I
genuinely appreciated that she did. I asked on several occasions why
she was so interested. She told me sincerely that she didn't really
understand what I was doing, but she respected it.
A
couple of weeks before I planned to head back out on the road, they
asked me to house sit while they went to Mexico on vacation. I
agreed, and let Steve know - via PM - exactly the timescale of all of
this. I told him that I'd been so grateful for all he had done for
me, and that I had already left the cabin, to house sit for my other
friends, before leaving for the next Journey. There was no reply.
I
spent nine days living at my friends' house, walking their awesome
dog--who was a real pal during that time, feeding the local stray cat
and generally looking after the place. I cleaned the house for them,
so that they wouldn't have to worry about anything when they
returned. On that night of their return we all stayed up late,
drinking and having a great time together. In preparation for the
over-4,000 miles I would be traveling, I spent my last week in
Livermore, camping in various places (see the Prologues in June of
2015 in the archives here).
I'd
planned to practice with Steve's band one more time, to say goodbye
to the guys and give my official thank you to Steve. I sent about
half a dozen PM's trying to figure out when they were practicing
next. I had no reply from Steve until, I received an email from him
telling me that I had worn out my welcome there, and taken advantage
of his hospitality. He left a PM complaining that I hadn't even fixed
one guitar cord (part of the mix of tasks he wanted me to do months
before). In an act of unbridled cowardice he had waited until the
very last second to say something, knowing I would not be back. He'd
lied about things being okay, until he knew he wouldn't have to face
me. I instantly lost all respect for the man.
The
morning was beautiful when it was time to leave. My friend and I hung
out by the pool having a final moment together and saying goodbye.
Then she drove me to Dublin Station, where I left her--both of us in
tears, as I wallked away, hopping on a train to San Francisco. It was
an emotional parting. But, my confidence and trust in her love and
friendship, my reliance on her to protect the t-shirts--to send them
out as they were purchased, and my assumption that I had her support
now and forever, strengthened me. It sweeten the sour taste of my
disaster with Steve. She lived up to that commitment, but has mailed the t-shirts back to Maine in anticipation of my return.
My
friends continued to donate money and stayed in close contact, even
buying me a couple hotel rooms along the way.
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